


Chance of Sunshine

by cest_what



Category: Panic At The Disco
Genre: Alternate Universe, Busking, M/M, Meet-Cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-12
Updated: 2010-04-12
Packaged: 2017-10-08 21:33:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/79708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cest_what/pseuds/cest_what
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Busking AU. Ryan didn't expect a sunflower.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chance of Sunshine

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to [LJ](http://cest-what.livejournal.com/23196.html) July 2009.
> 
> Many thanks for the tandem beta from frankkincense &amp; softlyforgotten! You guys are the best.

Ryan's fingers were beginning to ache with cold. He let his guitar hang from its strap for a moment so that he could blow on his fingertips where they poked out of his gloves. If this was the Chicago fall, Ryan wasn't sure that Chicago winter wouldn't break him into tiny icicles when it came. He thought about his cramped, chilly apartment, the one room with its one window, and had to blow on his fingers again.

He dropped his hands back to the frets of his guitar and picked out the beginning of 'Für Elise', wincing at the scrape of the strings on his fingertips, then segued into 'Lonely Duck Winter'.

A woman in a too-big football jersey gave him a pinched smile and dropped a couple of quarters into his guitar case. A man with three young children chivvied them past when they showed signs of wanting to stop to watch the busker. Ryan smiled at the youngest one. She twisted her head back to watch him as her father towed her away by the hand, but didn't smile back.

Ryan had forgotten that 'Lonely Duck Winter' had a harmonica part that overlapped the second chorus. He fumbled through it, suddenly missing Brendon and Spencer like crazy. He'd never busked on his own before he moved to Chicago (two weeks ago; it felt longer). Neither Spencer nor Brendon had ever been especially into the busking aesthetic, but one or the other of them had always been _there_, filling in the chorus, chatting to passersby when Ryan failed at Charming Strangers 101.

_Don't even front, you miss us because we're awesome_, Ryan's inner Brendon-voice scoffed.

Ryan was pretty sure that he missed them worst because he was lonely.

He finished the song, fingerpicking to cover the changeover, and tried to remember why he'd moved to Chicago at all.

His fingers were cramping up again so he practiced slides for a couple of minutes. One day he would actually have the money for an electric guitar; in the meantime his acoustic slides were pretty badass.

He was aware that his inner Spencer was rolling his eyes.

Ryan thought about doing 'Dime Lovers', but it needed the banjo, and he hadn't really been playing long enough for an instrument switch. He hadn't been playing long enough for a break, either, but he craned forward anyway, trying to see whether he'd made enough to pay for coffee and a muffin. The problem was that he'd set up under a tree, one with roots cracking the pavement and scraggly branches shading the footpath. It had been dropping fall leaves over Ryan's head all morning and they'd collected in a small drift in his guitar case, making it difficult to count the coins. He gave up, shifting back onto his heels. A girl slowed, eyeing him up and down, and he gave her a teasing smile and started the intro to 'Slash All Your Footprints, Save the Sidewalk For Me'.

"Sweet," she murmured, but she didn't stop.

Ryan had his head ducked for the tricky bridge bit when he heard something rustle. He looked up in time to see someone finish laying a long-stalked sunflower in Ryan's guitar case. Ryan stared at it for a second, his hands moving on autopilot. It was bright and amazingly cheerful, resting on top of the scattered orange-and-brown leaves and the glint of coins. It made something in Ryan warm up as he looked at it.

He raised his eyes to the guy who'd put it there. He was watching Ryan sleepy-eyed and careful, his thumbs tucked into his belt loops. He smiled and shrugged.

Ryan blinked at him. The guy bit his lip, then shrugged and smiled again, smaller, before he turned away.

Ryan almost missed the entry for his last verse.

*

The sunflower kept warming Ryan up all day. People smiled when they saw it, too, and their eyes darted to Ryan's face. Each time he couldn't help smiling back.

It felt like one of those perfect moments: a stranger in a strange city, an out-of-season flower. Something inexplicable that wasn't supposed to be explained. That was probably why Ryan felt so wrong-footed when he came out of the cafe that let him change his coins for notes at the end of the day, the guitar and banjo both tucked in their cases, and recognised the sunflower guy looking at a window display.

Ryan stopped dead in the doorway, staring as the guy turned away from the window and started down the street. Ryan hurried after him, the guitar and banjo cases knocking against his thighs and the sunflower tight in his other hand.

"Hey!"

The guy turned around. His eyes fell on the sunflower first and widened; then he lifted them to Ryan's face. "Hey," he said. There was a smile threaded all through his voice.

Ryan felt self-conscious and a bit stupid. The guitar and banjo straps were twisted around each other and the beaded leather bracelets on his wrist had slipped down, catching tight around the heel of his hand. His scarf was twisted around and his hat had slipped, but he couldn't adjust it because he had no hands free. He hadn't wanted to squish the sunflower, so that was the only thing he held in his right hand, even though the guitar and banjo in his left wanted to tip him over.

Sunflower Guy looked every bit the casual Chicago hometown boy. He was bareheaded, his jacket unzipped, his hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans, and –

"You don't even have proper shoes on," Ryan blurted.

The guy's eyes sparkled and he wiggled his toes in his flip flops. "It's not that cold."

Ryan shook his head. "Um," he said. "I just wanted to, um. To thank you. For –" He lifted the sunflower, pressing the stem against his right ear.

The guy smiled, small at first then bigger. "Sunflowers should be currency," he said. "Don't you think? I would trade goods and services for a sunflower."

Ryan ducked his head, adjusting his hold on the instrument cases. "I don't even know where you'd get sunflowers at this time of year," he mumbled.

"Mm, well, I'm magic." The guy held his fingers up, waggling them as though to demonstrate the magic, then extended a hand. "Or Jonathan Walker," he said.

"Um." Ryan adjusted the cases again.

Jonathan Walker carefully took the sunflower out of Ryan's hand, transferred it to his own left hand, and shook Ryan's. Ryan rolled his eyes, but he could feel himself flushing. "I'm Ryan," he said.

His fingers were tingling. Possibly with cold.

Jonathan Walker grinned, taking his hand back. "It's really just Jon," he admitted. "I felt as though I should be formal because you were wearing a hat."

Ryan was startled into a real laugh. "Jon," he said. He shook his head, still smiling. "Okay. Well, um. I kind of need to get home. But thank you." He could feel his smile getting stupid and shy. "I didn't think I'd get a sunflower today."

Jon tilted his head. "I'm not really doing anything," he said. "I could help you carry your stuff? It looks kind of heavy, and you have those twiggy arms." His eyes were very earnest. Ryan felt his mouth open and close.

_You do have twiggy arms_, his inner Spencer said.

_Like matchsticks, dude_, Brendon added.

"I'm not a total weakling," Ryan said, mostly to them.

Jon grinned. "I know," he said. "You should let me carry your guitar for you anyway."

Ryan hesitated a moment longer, but the cases really were heavy. And he kind of liked the idea of Jon having to hang around and talk to him for a bit longer. He passed the banjo case over.

Jon took it, solemnly handing the sunflower back. Ryan curled his fingers around the stem, feeling warmed all over again.

It was much easier walking with only the guitar. Jon settled into an amble at Ryan's side, swinging the banjo case.

"You're new to Chicago, aren't you," Jon said.

Ryan gave him a sideways look. "Two weeks ago. I'm from Vegas, actually." His shoulders tightened a bit, because – because every fucking person on earth had an opinion on Vegas.

Jon made a _hmm_ sound. "That would explain the fourteen scarves," he said.

Ryan blinked. "Um. Not really." He shrugged. "I like scarves." He shot a look at Jon's feet. "But I do have this weird ability to feel the cold. That's maybe a Vegas thing."

"I've heard about Vegas things," Jon agreed. He sounded totally relaxed, and Ryan felt the bit of tension in his shoulders melt.

"Yeah."

Jon was studying photography at the University of Illinois. He was in a garage band ("But we suck," he said, disarmingly honest. "Your songs are way better.") and he played bass, guitar, piano and some drums. He wrote some music, too, mainly melodies, occasionally with lyrics.

Ryan could feel his eyes going big, and he fought the urge to grab at Jon's sleeve and not let him go.

"I like your Iris Blues song best," Jon said, studiously casual. "I like the Beatles influence in the chord progression? And the way that works with that funky little turnaround in the bridge."

Ryan thought about that, and glowed a bit, and then frowned. "I didn't play that today."

Jon looked at the sky. "No. I've maybe been noticing you for the last fortnight. I wanted to talk to you since the first day. I meant to when I gave you the sunflower, but I lost my nerve." He looked at his hands, meditative. "I'm mentioning this now because I have your banjo, so you can't decide I'm a loser stalker and disappear on me."

Ryan stared at the sunflower in his hands, fighting a smile. "Right. Forethought. That's admirable." _You are my favourite person in Chicago_, he thought.

"I know, right?" Jon said, swinging towards him with a grin. He could so easily have been answering Ryan's thought that Ryan laughed.

"I'm, um –" Ryan looked around. "This is actually my street. I'm just up those steps."

Jon looked disappointed. "Oh, hey. I should carry your banjo right to your door, though."

Jon set the case down on the top step while Ryan fumbled for his keys. His fingers were clumsy and cold in the gloves and he dropped the key ring, lunging for it and knocking the banjo case. Jon caught him, one foot stopping the banjo from tumbling down the steps, and for a second Ryan was staring at him from far too close. Ryan's hat had tumbled off, leaving his head bare and tingly-feeling. Jon's hand shifted on Ryan's elbow, tightening, and his eyes looked darker up close like this. Ryan had the vague impression that it had been several hours since he last breathed.

Jon swallowed and went up on his toes, pressing his mouth against Ryan's. His breath fanned Ryan's mouth as he fell back. Ryan blinked at him, his eyes heavy.

"I hope you don't think I'm a loser stalker," Jon said, the words low. "Because I think you're pretty awesome."

"I'm –" Ryan cleared his throat. "I'm just a busker."

Jon smiled, sweet and languid. "I like buskers."

Ryan managed, by the barest margin, not to say the massively dorky 'I like _you_' hovering on his tongue. Instead he hooked his fingers into the belt loops of Jon's jeans and tugged him forward, kissing him once and stepping away. "Okay," he said, and he didn't try to keep his smile from going too wide.

Jon took a step down, smiling too. "Wow," he said. "So this went so much better than I thought it would." He bit his lip. "You'll be busking again tomorrow, right?"

"After lunch," Ryan said. Jon nodded, grinned again, and pushed his hands in his pockets as he sloped back down the street.

Ryan was still smiling dorkily to himself as he struggled the two instrument cases up the cramped stairs to his apartment.

_You know, you shouldn't trust strangers so easily_, Ryan's Spencer-voice commented, but it didn't sound especially heated. Ryan thought his inner Spencer had probably been as charmed by Jon Walker as Ryan had.

His little room was just as cramped and dim as ever. The one window let in smoky light from the gap between Ryan's apartment block and the building alongside. Ryan dropped the instruments on his unmade bed and filled a glass at the tiny sink. The sunflower was too tall, so he rested it in the water and leaned it against the flaking windowsill.

Probably Jon had got it from a friend who worked in a florally-extravagant department store or something ordinary like that. Who knew, though. Ryan kind of liked that Jon hadn't told him.

He stared at the sunflower, imagining it as a splash of sunshine in the dim room. It made him want to write a song about summer.

He grabbed his phone instead, pushing speed dial as he lifted it to his ear.

It was Spencer's number, but Brendon answered. For once the evidence of the two of them living on top of each other while he was so far away didn't make Ryan feel prickly and displaced.

"Ryan _Ross_." Brendon was laughing at something, and Ryan couldn't tell if he was excited to hear from Ryan or just excited.

"Hey," Ryan said. "So I think –" He curled his fingers tighter around the phone, starting to smile. "So I think Chicago was a good idea."


End file.
